Heavy Whispers
by Vitani FyreWolf
Summary: Another collection of IchigoxRukia one shots, most of them done for the 100 themes challenge. Quiet looks into the relationship between two fiercely devoted people.
1. Tiny Cage For A Golden Bird

A/N: I couldn't help but go for this theme. I work at a Zoo, so the concept of animals and cages is an intriguing one for me to work with.

Theme #1: Tiny Cage For A Golden Bird

The space was suffocating.

Rukia was alone in the room, white surrounding her. Pure, unforgiving white - boring into her mind, making her lower her eyes to lessen the painful glare. Cut off from everything, it felt as though nothing could cross that chalky expanse. Not just people, but feelings, sensations, emotions. No one would reach her. No one could. And really, no one should. The forbidding space existed only in her own mind, and it terrified her. It became her self-inflicted punishment when she was feeling the most guilt - to stay in the center of the floor, thinking on all she had ever done wrong, fighting off the nausea and fear of being surrounded by nothingness.

Sometimes it was too much for her to take, which might have shamed her if she had still thought it mattered. It was then that she would sit against the wall, huddling near to the slit of light, feeling slightly more secure against the solid stone, imagining that there was someone just on the other side. That she could rap on the unyielding granite and hear an annoyed, groggy voice reply. She couldn't stand the emptiness.

She had become used to a much smaller cage - a closet in which she could not even spread her arms, a warm body just feet from the door. During the day she would be let out to unfurl her wings, as much as she could, but always in his company. Wherever he went, so did she - regardless of where it was or what the occasion happened to be. _There might be a Hollow_, she always insisted. _I have to be there. _Even though she was allowed to fly, her wings were clipped. By herself, or by him? No, not by him. It had been her choice. It had. Her feathers weren't cut with a blade, but ripped out by her own talons.

And yet, she never resented returning to her tiny cage. She had no need to fear. She was surrounded by life and warmth and emotion, no one was cold or detached. No judging eyes watched her. But it was tainted, always - by her ever-present weakness which made her wings heavy, and the knowledge that it could not last. When it came time for her to leave, she did attempt to fly - as fast as she could, away from him, to protect him. But her wings were in such a state that she did not get far before her other keepers discovered her desperate flight.

Like a well-trained bird, she returned to their hands, and was placed in a much larger enclosure. This was no closet - the ceiling towered over her, the walls too far away for her to touch. There were no warm blankets, no over-large pillow, only cold unforgiving stone and harsh light and shadow.

There was no longer a need for her to tear at her wings - the collar, a bird's silver band - proclaimed just how free she was.

And when it was over, when it was all over, and he came - to return her to that tiny cage, that small, comfortable space, she fought down the instinct to flutter back, as she always had. And she looked at him, and told him she was staying, she had made her own decision.

He had smiled at her. And agreed. It's time to regrow your feathers.

She had once known just what it was like to choose how high she could soar. But, after a time, a captured bird can forget just how far they can truly go.

He had taken away her cages. She would need to find her own way again, without the command of someone else.

When they said goodbye, his eyes were warm. Whatever small fear she still held died a soft death in her chest.

You can fly better than any of them. You've just forgotten how.

All the same, she knew if she ever was tired of flying, she had a tiny warm cage waiting for her. The only difference was her wings would never again be clipped. They would be strong, with long beautiful feathers, shining blue and black and gold.

Somehow, she thought he'd like that.


	2. Daydream Believer

A/N: I like Orihime, and I like how she seems to understand the other characters. She's such a giving person. I hope I didn't ruin her here.

IchiRuki Theme #26

Daydream Believer

Everyone told her they were only daydreams - just shimmering images floating through her head because she had neither the desire nor experience to know how to block them out. While it was true that Orihime did daydream, she knew the difference between ones that would go away when you blinked and ones that would linger until they established themselves in the world as reality. Ichigo and Rukia were one of those.

She had seen them several times, running together, talking, fighting, doing things even she didn't think possible before her world was turned around. When she went to school she wished to tell people, insist that it was true – Kurosaki-kun would swung a huge sword, and Kuchiki-san darted in and out giving him guidance. The tiny dark-haired girl could heal with a strange light, and the boy could fall from a second story window and be unharmed.

But she knew they would laugh. _Another fantasy, Inoue? There's no way. _She was half-convinced that they were right, that she was delusional. But there was something in the way the two behaved around each other, even at school – a comfortable sort of familiarity, mutual respect and fondness. Fantasies aside, there was not a way for them to have developed such a companionable air with just seeing each other in class.

At least the others saw that much. The rumor that Ichigo and Rukia were dating was ever-present, but the two in question simply ignored it. It was a cause for frustration with many of their friends, but Orihime was instead filled with a strange curiosity. How much – if anything – was true about them? Perhaps it was a silly thought – truth could not be held in daydreams.

Which is why, when she sat confronted by the strange man, kneeling next to Sado-kun, she had a hard time believing. Her entire life she had been told her visions were childish, fabricated. That she should grow out of them. Never before had anyone told her that she had, in fact, seen the truth.

It was a turnaround she knew would change her life.

All at once the strange fantasy was shattered, turning instead into her reality. It was then that she noticed Rukia was no longer around, that Kurosaki-kun was quiet and conflicted, that their friends never spoke a word of rumors. Confused at the loss of her daydreams, she confronted Ichigo – the one they had been most tied to. When his eyes widened at her question – _Kuchiki-san – where is she? – _she could see he was feeling it's disappearance as well. Unlike her, he probably didn't know what it meant.

So, she went with him. She, Sado-kun, Ishida-kun, and Yoruichi-san. All had their different reasons. She was looking to discover the truth behind her daydreams. With every moment, something else fell into place, and she knew she had been right to be a believer.

So much had happened. They had all changed. She grew stronger, felt more comfortable in herself. Her daydreams didn't let her down. When it came time to go, she watched Kurosaki-kun approach Kuchiki-san, and she waited for the last of it to come true.

But then he walked away.

Orihime did not understand. None of the others did, either, but they accepted the decision. The trust they had built – as a team – was remarkable. So when they walked through the gate, him casting a smile over his shoulder, stride never faltering – she did not question it. It was not for her to do so.

But she still believed in her daydreams. They had become her truth, and to deny them now would be to deny the pain and blood and perseverance they had all gone through. They were changed, because of those true fantasies. So she believed that even though this one was delayed a bit, the last part would still come true. She had to. She needed them.

Sometimes she saw Kurosaki-kun turn his head to the side and open his mouth to speak, stopping when he realized that beside him there was only empty air. His expression would tighten, and he would shake his head lightly, acting as though nothing had happened.

It was then that she realized that he needed them, too.


	3. Role Reversal

Title: Role Reversal

Pairing: Ichigo/Rukia

Spoilers: Soul Society Arc

Word Count: 974

Notes: Theme # 58 – Tie Time in Knots

A/N: Er – sorry I disappeared for a while there. I was dealing with the explosion of the HP fandom (those of you that know, know ;), and I've just been so exhausted from work and worrying about various things that I never had the energy to write. This drabble has been sitting on my computer mostly finished for almost a week. It might be slightly AU, but the idea wouldn't leave me alone so I had to write it. Creative license, I suppose. And even after it sat around for a week, I'm still not satisfied with it. Ah well.

Role Reversal

This wasn't supposed to happen anymore.

He was stronger than this. That had been proven many, many times, much to the disbelief of everyone else. But dammit, his leg was barely working, making quick movements near to impossible. A sense of frustration welled up in his throat as he cut at an approaching limb, pulling back into another street. _Running away?_

_No!_ He snapped back. _Just recovering a bit._

Where were the other Shinigami? A Hollow of this level had been attracting more of them of late. It seemed he couldn't enter a battle anymore without coming face to face with someone from Soul Society – some who recognized him and greeted him respectfully, others who had no idea who he was and couldn't care less. It seemed when he had no need of help, he couldn't get rid of them. Either way, one should be around.

No - he shouldn't even be wondering about them! He was perfectly strong enough to handle any stupid Hollow, he had been able to before _they_ came around. Before the Hollows became… different. Why, then, were his steps faltering? Why did he feel like he did when he first attempted to swing Zangetsu? At least it was dark – that cut down on the effort he would normally need to use to avoid people.

_It's just blood loss_, he hissed to himself, tamping down the more rational voice that insisted such a thing would only affect the concentration of humans, not Shinigami. Admittedly, he hadn't been expecting the attack, too caught up in his own thoughts to have been paying proper attention. _This is stupid, stupid, stu-_

His ribs protested as he was hit with a heavy force and thrown backwards through the wall. It was always a wall – luck didn't allow him to simply be thrown through the air. No, if there was an obstacle somewhere, anywhere, he would hit it. Gritting his teeth, he rolled onto his back and moved to stand again, but his injured leg crumpled beneath him. The blood leaking into his eyes only allowed him to make out the vague shape of claws as they sped towards his face. He desperately slashed up with Zangetsu, knowing he would likely miss his mark.

All went silent.

It seemed to take ages, but when the dust cleared, he saw two blades splitting the grotesque bone mask. Under the dual pressure, the Hollow dissolved, leaving nothing but wreckage behind. Wreckage, and a large pair of dark blue eyes.

_It couldn't be._

"Ru-"

"What did you think you were _doing?" _

It _was _her. The same striking features, soft ebony locks framing her pale face. The small hand holding her Zanpakuto – what was its name? He'd never asked her - trembled, allowing him a glimpse of her leashed anger. Just what he needed. Ichigo barely listened to her words, letting the rich sound of her voice roll over him, through him, helping his world mend.

"Where the hell were you going? Where were you leading it, Ichigo? Help was sent but they couldn't _find _you because of all the confusion of the reiratsu, and you weren't _anywhere _near where it appeared. Why are you so injured? You can fight better than that, dammit, you fought better than that when I first met you! Look at your leg, you can't even _stand _on it-"

He rubbed blood from his eyes, finally lifting his head. "I would have been fine, Rukia." _He always was._

Her mouth worked silently for a moment as she heard him speak for the first time since they parted. He now realized that she had begun yelling first so that she did not lose her anger. The pause didn't last long.

"You would have been _fine?_" She hissed, the velvet in her voice turning to steel. "Is that so? Do you have _any _idea what it looked like to me when I arrived to only find debris and your blood? I didn't even know where you _were_, or if there was something _seriously wrong with you_ to have allowed yourself to be so injured by a _Hollow. _I had to follow the trail of blood, Ichigo, your energy _always _messes up things like that, and I didn't even know if I would get there in time or what I would find and I kept thinking if only they had sent me _first_, it's _my _area, no matter what they say about my imprisonment, and what if something happened and I wasn't in time to help? Do you have any idea what that feels like? Do yo-" her tirade cut off abruptly, one hand raised to her mouth, dark eyes wide and guilty. He hadn't moved, but his silence spoke volumes.

She stepped forward, one hand outstretched, as though about to apologize. In a swift, very painful (but not as painful as what he had endured before) movement, he settled himself back on his feet, balancing against Zangetsu. She cried out in protest and rushed towards him, worrying again, and he reached out with his free arm to grab her and crush her to his chest. He heard her sharp intake of breath as she went absolutely still.

Ichigo held her there, held her in the dust and the ruin and the dark, focusing on how her tiny frame fit so easily in the circle of his arm. Rukia shuddered lightly at the feel of his warm breath in her hair and relaxed, allowing her body to mold to his as she pressed her face into his shoulder. Auras rose and settled, their contact familiar and comfortable. They were safe again. (For the safety of one required the safety of the other.)

There were so many questions, so many answers he needed, but at that moment… it didn't matter.

He'd gotten used to waiting.

"Yeah," he whispered. "Yeah, I do."


	4. Hidden Designs

Title: Hidden Designs

Pairing: Ichigo/Rukia

Word Count: 996

Theme # 22: Like a Fan Unfolding

A/N: Eep, I keep getting worse at this. Sorry it's taken me so long… I have been dealing with some other things.

Rukia was hard to interpret.

It wasn't when she slept that her guard was down. With many people like her – strong, reserved – one could see their more secret selves when they slept. But not Rukia. Even in sleep there was a trace of the stoicism, of the detached face she took to wearing in her daily life. Her lips were firmly closed, almost with the hint of a frown. Dark lashes like perfectly formed butterfly's wings rested against flawless cheeks. A noble's face.

After they began sleeping together, Ichigo had expected to see a change in her while she dreamed, had wondered how innocent she could look. No – with Rukia, the time when her her defenses were truly down was right when she began to awaken, in those swift moments between sleep and consciousness.

He made sure he was the one to see it. Ichigo sat next to her still form, one arm carefully placed on her other side. With a silent movement, he lifted his hand and softly placed it against her nape, sliding it down her back gently, soothingly, the touch only heavy enough to rouse, not startle. She began to stir, and he watched, unaware of the smile growing on his face. Her tiny shoulders shifted, arching her back. Her arm stiffened momentarily, rising above her head in a leisurely stretch. Large dark eyes fluttered open, unfocused, as her legs slowly untangled. Rukia tended to sleep in a defensive position, curled around herself, knees brought up and back curved – but when she awoke, her body tenderly unfolded, stretching out to it's full length (which was not very much at all, but he liked it that way – liked how perfectly she fit in his arms.)

Dark lashes opened, and their eyes met. Rukia froze for one moment, her stern façade about to fall into place, but then she saw his unconscious smile. With a small flicker of her lips, she returned it, and melted back into the sheets. Realizing his expression, Ichigo shook his head wryly and brushed her hair out of her face. "Sleep well?"

"Mm."

She always slept better there than she did in Soul Society. Sometimes Ichigo wondered if she didn't visit merely to get a good night's sleep, and not to see him. But then… he liked to think that it was because of him that she slept so comfortably. Not that he'd ever ask her, of course.

It took him a while to realize this change in her. They weren't often together – her going about her duties as a Shinigami, spending much of her time in Soul Society. When he saw her work, she was expressionless, going about her duty. Her beautiful shadowy eyes were flat and stern, her lips pressed into a thin line. But if he got her alone, pressed her against him, that would melt away from her. Her entire face would soften, her striking eyes opening, the emotions visible in them capable of paralyzing him. Her lips would curve – into a smile, or perhaps a pout. Like a fan unfolding, her heart was suddenly worn on her sleeve.

Rukia shifted on the sheets, encircling her arms about him and nuzzling against his side, before starting to rise.

Ichigo immediately regretted awakening her, and grasped at her hand. "You don't need to leave yet," he insisted, voice harsher than he had intended.

She cast him a sideways look, not nearly as sharp as it could have been. "You know I do."

There was a light undertone of scolding in her voice – he was not supposed to comment on her leaving. It was an unspoken agreement with them, that they had to put their relationship second, until this… war… whatever it was…. finally stopped. If it ever did.

She stood and reached for her robes. All at once overcome with the desire to prolong the moment, he rose and stood beside her, helping her dress. At first she was irritated, sharply insisting he leave her be, but then she realized his "help" consisted more of touches and gliding his hands over her body, memorizing her as best he could. Large palms ghosted over thin, perfectly shaped limbs, his body bending over hers in a protective gesture – he was terribly possessive. She quieted and indulged him, knowing he needed the "dressing her" as an excuse to give in to a vulnerable moment.

It helped that she never wanted to forget the feel of his hands on her skin. Caresses moved from flesh to cloth, pulling the folds about her small form and gently tugging them over her arms, her shoulders. He smoothed it more than necessary, and in her own acts of dressing she made a point of brushing her hands against his as much as possible. Rukia understood all too well the need for excuses.

When the knot was tied about her waist, and neither could stall any longer, she turned her head and kissed him. He was tall, wiry, all sharp angles and bright colors - she tiny and curved, pale and dark - but they worked. Somehow, they worked.

Ichigo broke the kiss, gathering his own defenses, and she stepped away, straightening the fabric and passing her hands over her hair – giving him time. Then she turned to look back.

The fan snapped shut.

He stared at her and Kuchiki Rukia, Shinigami, stared back, her face perfectly composed and regal. She nodded once, and leapt quickly away.

They never said goodbye. To do so would be to admit to separation. To admit to separation would be to admit to the possibility of there never being a reunion – and that was unthinkable.

Ichigo turned away from the window to straighten his bed, having become too used to Rukia's forced change in moods to be bothered by it anymore. He knew he was the same way.

He also knew only he would see the fan's true pattern, the beautiful ever-changing vision.

And that, in itself, was precious.


	5. This Is How We Break

Title: This is How We Break

Pairing: Ichigo/Rukia

Spoilers: The whole manga up to 193 – there are just a couple specific spoilers, but the rest is heavily implied.

Theme #49: Conversations in the Dark

A/N: Okay, I do have some things I need to say about this. It may be slightly AU because we don't know entirely what the deal is with the things happening in the manga right now or where it's headed. In fact, this fic _will _be AU in a very short amount of time because whatever is going to happen next in the manga will probably pull the rug out from under this. But that's alright with me, because I liked this idea, and wanted to have a go at it. And I always thought Anti-Ichi was interesting in the context of Kaien's fate, so if you're unclear what Rukia's freaking out about…. yes, that's it. I know the situations are different, but at the same time, they have some striking similarities. I just wanted to tackle the concept, and I have no idea how successful (or not) I managed to be. Wow, I am so nervous about this one.

Ichigo had never wanted to see her afraid again - had sworn she wouldn't be. At the moment, though, she undeniably was, and the worst part about it was that _he_ had caused it. The second worst part, however, was he didn't know how.

It had been just another one of their nighttime conversations. Most often when Rukia came to him, it was at night, after he'd already retired. She'd explained why - night was when the squads dealt with most Hollows, and if there were few - or none, on a lucky day - she had the rest of the night to herself. It didn't take much after that to slip away and find him.

There was no way of judging how often this would occur, or how long it would be before their next reunion. They weren't really trying to hide it, not anymore... everyone seemed to know, anyway. Everyone being their "group", the other Shingami, and his family. Still, she had so much she had to make up for, and he also had new conflicts to deal with, that left them without the luxury of a leisurely courtship. They didn't have time for half-lived moments.

Ichigo had needed to learn to not expect anything. If he thought she would appear one night, and she didn't, he was invariably disheartened. However, if he went into that night with no hopes and was awakened by small hands gently stroking his face, nothing could have done a better job of raising his spirits. It made the wait even more worth it

Expectations were discarded even more often recently, when it wasn't just the Hollows that were being dealt with. He never thought he'd find the day when a Hollow would be considered a simple nuisance compared to what he usually had to face. He found not only did her times of visiting him become more erratic, but that he'd sometimes not be there himself when she called. Those days, when he returned to his room, he would see a Hell Butterfly sitting calmly at his desk, its raven-dark wings the exact same shade as her hair. The instant he entered, it would glide away, a silent message from her - "I was here tonight - I'll be here again, when I can." In truth, it might have been kinder for her not to have left anything at all, so that he did not feel the inevitable aching jab of regret… but it had been he who'd asked her to do so.

Rukia had been lying on her side on one of their first nights, her back against his chest, gazing out at the window. His arms encircled her waist and he rested his chin on her shoulder, head against hers, trying to see what she found so interesting. The combination of being sheltered by his body and tucked under the comforter made it so that her luminous eyes were the only part of her visible.

"The nights are getting shorter," she murmured, a hint of discontentment in her voice.

"Well, summer is getting closer," he replied, placing an affectionate kiss on her shoulder. "Nothing we can do about that."

"Yes, I suppose, but it rained last time - it's strange it would rain, so close to summer."

He stilled as his mind ran over this statement, and then raised himself onto one arm and gazed at her suspiciously. "The last time you were here, it was clear," he said sharply, tone questioning. He always remembered their nights - he made a point of doing so. In a relationship like theirs, memories became essential. Sometimes it made him wonder if all of his recollections of her would be tinged by moonlight.

Her eyes widened in what looked like guilt, and she opened her mouth as though she were going to try and explain. He cut her off before she could make an excuse. "In fact, that freak rainfall was just a few days ago, and I haven't seen you for three weeks."

After a moment of silence, Rukia sighed in defeat. "I came here then. You weren't home." She curled closer, seeking his warmth, and he gave in and settled back down beside her, limbs fitting perfectly in the curves of her body. He had to frown at her words, recalling that yes, another battle had come up that night. The uncertainty and frustration from yet another undecided fight rushed back to him, but he pushed it down. There was no reason to let it mar their time.

"Why didn't you tell me you were here? Leave a note, or something?" Even as he asked, he knew what her response would be. He probably would have done the same.

"I didn't…. I didn't want you to feel badly about it," she whispered, casting him a look that begged him to understand. "I know I would."

He opened the circle of his embrace a bit, allowing her to turn over and face him. Pale arms slid about his torso, holding him tightly to her smaller form. She was right about what he would feel, but at the same time…

"Next time, make sure I know."

She looked up at him in confusion. "But why? There's no point in -"

He silenced her with his lips, feeling a surge of pride in the way she instinctively melted into him. When he pulled away, his eyes were serious. "Sometimes it's been months before I see you, Rukia. If you leave a note, yes… I'll be… irritated, but…" _At least I'll know you're safe. _

This was a reasonable worry, considering the injuries they were constantly receiving on their side. It was bad enough not knowing even during a short absence, but during the longer ones he began to wonder seriously if there was some way he could contact Soul Society, aside from barging right in (again).

Her eyes softened, but a hint of steel crept into her tone. "_Ichigo."_ She hated it when she thought he might be underestimating her.

"Please, Rukia." It was rare he asked her for anything, and so she liked to give when she could. She let out a heavy breath, and nodded her assent.

"Okay," she whispered, and he made sure she didn't need to say anything for the rest of the night.

Because they so often only had nights, they spent much of the time talking, telling each other about what was happening in their respective worlds. Sometimes they made love, but not always. There were the times when she would arrive, exhausted, sore, and all she wanted was to be held as she slept. The same went for him - if he was particularly angry, or frustrated over the new revelations and conflicts that now seemed to define his life, then she would lie still for him, her mere presence a comfort. He would bury his face in her hair, gripping her so tightly he almost left bruises, as though he was trying to leave himself and become a part of her. It was a constant give and take, but in all honestly, both were reassured.

On the nights they did, however, there was not a certain routine. If their time apart had been longer than normal, then usually they were eager to reconnect and it was only afterwards that they would begin to talk. Sometimes, in that scenario, the sex could be rough. But there were also the nights when the conversation simply started when she entered the room and he lifted his covers, wordlessly inviting her in. On those evenings, they would talk for a long time and then near the end one or the other would begin replacing their words with touches, softly working the passion between them until their coming together was only the natural end of it. Those were the gentlest times. They could never predict what sort of a night it would be.

He certainly could never have predicted _this._

It had been one of those nights when they had started their conversation right away, her having slid under the sheets beside him, quietlly slipping from her outer robe. He held her as she shuddered away the cool of the night, feeling the warmth permeate her skin as she stilled into contentment.

The subject of their talk, as it often was, were the new troubles they were facing. He would quietly tell her of new challenges, horrors, secrets, injuries they endured fighting the strange new enemies, whatever they called themselves. Rukia never reacted strongly to it, merely listened with a quiet acceptance, her expression solemn and thoughtful. She'd long ago learned that trying to keep Ichigo out of harm's way was impossible - all she could do was fight on her end as best she could to lessen what might be coming his way. As he spoke, he busied his hands - fondly playing with her hair, tracing the curve of her jaw, gliding down the arch of her neck. Her eyes were half-lidded, focusing on his words while she reveled in his casual touches.

When he stopped talking she would start in, filling him in on the Soul Society news in much the same way - how they were trying to recover after the conspiracy, what actions were taken to defend themselves against the next attack, and whatever little information they could collect on the Vizards and Allankars. She was rarely injured, something she sounded a bit bitter about, but he was grateful for it. She may have found it unfair that she was spared so much pain while he had to endure it - but he endured it better knowing she didn't have to.

Besides, she'd been through enough. He knew he wasn't aware of all of what she had undergone, but... he'd had hints.

The result of this night's conversation had brought that sharply to the forefront of his thoughts.

Ichigo didn't know why he chose that night to tell her about his increasing fears. About the…. Hollow… _thing_… inside of him. About what he was told about being... one of _them_. He had denied it, of course, denied it a long while ago, but it had been weighing on him more and more, and that night he had let a bit of it slip. As attuned to him as she was, she immediately caught on to it, and had proceeded to prod him for more information. Unwilling to make the effort to distract her, he had ended up explaining it all - about his training with Urahara, how he almost became a Hollow - _almost, Ichigo?_ - and it's increasing prominence in his life.

Ichigo had been lying on his back, her resting on his chest, one arm around her casually stroking her back. He stared at the ceiling as he spoke.

"And… I don't know how long I can control it. I know I have to… but… lately, I get…" he couldn't say it. _Afraid_. No! He couldn't say it. It wasn't allowed, not even with her.

He tilted his head to the side to try and explain it to her further, but all his words were lost at the expression on her face. She hadn't spoken at all since he'd begun, and the look in her eyes chilled him. There was fear, and sadness, and regret, and something he couldn't name - but it was worse than all the others. He was terribly confused. Was she… was she afraid of him? At first she had been shivering delightedly at the strokes of his hand, but she hadn't moved at all since he'd told her about… his becoming a Hollow…

"Rukia!" He moved onto his side, feeling a strange sense of panic, and held her face in his hands. "Rukia, are you - are you afraid of me? Are you scared that I..." If _she _had given up on him, then...

"_No!_" Her cry was almost a scream, strangled and desperate. She tilted forward and showered his face in kisses, her lips ghosting over his forehead, eyelids, cheeks, in a desperate attempt to assure him of her trust in him. He felt relief at that, but she clearly didn't - instead of calming down, like he would have expected her to, her mental state just seemed to deteriorate. Her tiny hands shook as they grasped at his light shirt, her breaths shallow and choked. It sounded as though she were crying, but no tears rolled down her cheeks.

And that left him where he was now, cradling her against him, rocking her gently as she spoke rapidly, incomprehensibly, against his neck. Ichigo's mind raced in an attempt to explain the situation, and he tried to piece together the fragments he could understand - "Not again,", "Can't do this," and the most surprising, "My fault - always my fault!"

_Wait! _At that he held her away from him to look into her eyes. She averted her gaze and immediately tried to pull him back again, as through trying to keep him from looking at her out of shame. "What the - what are you talking about, Rukia? This has nothing to do with you, of course it's not your fault! It was my choice to do the training…" but she didn't appear to be listening, twisting so that her face was buried in the mattress.

"Not again, I would rather _die_-"

He hissed through his teeth at her words, and locked her in his arms, holding her face so tightly against him it was impossible for her to keep talking. He did not understand her reaction, and he needed to - he _needed_ to know what could shake her so badly - but what he _did _understand was that this was not the night he was going to find out. Calming her was more important.

And she did calm, Rukia always did - she never lost her composure for long. But she had never lost her composure like _this_, either, and that unnerved him. When he felt her breathing start to even, he pulled away from her a little. Her eyes were tranquil, staring past him, the few tears that had escaped drying on her cheeks. He regarded her for a moment, and her gaze shifted to him, along with a small, tense smile.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice hoarse from strain. "I don't know what happened."

"You have no reason to be sorry," he told her roughly, using the sheet to dry the remaining wetness from her skin. "But you _do_ know what happened. And I'd like to know what it was."

The sudden pain in her eyes stabbed him, and he rushed to add, "Not _tonight._ You don't have to tell me tonight. When you can."

That had always been their arrangement, after all. They would confide in each other, but only when they felt they could, and one would not force the other a moment before they were ready. But this night Rukia made no sign of agreement, and merely went lifeless against the pillow, not meeting his eyes, looking frighteningly like a broken doll. He didn't like it, and wanted to yell at her for doing it - but he worried that doing so would simply make it worse. They were among the strongest of people, but that merely meant that when one of their few cracks was found, it was all the deeper. Deep cracks were the easiest to break open.

_He_ was supposed to be the one worried about losing himself. He couldn't handle her breakdown, as well. If one wasn't still standing strong...

No. There was no point in thinking about that. Since when had he allowed himself the possibility of defeat before? He wouldn't allow it for her, either.

He blinked when he realized she had spoken again, and it took a moment of thought to figure out it had been another apology. He shook his head and lay back beside her, tucking her head under his chin. "Stop being stupid."

She gave in with uncharacteristic obedience, and he felt the tension flow out of her body. He allowed her to see his worst moments... if she wasn't allowed to do the same in front of him, then when could she?

The night passed with no further incidents, the only sounds in the room occasional unintelligible murmurs and soothing responses. When she left in the morning, it was like nothing had ever happened.

Ichigo did notice, however, that her visits began to occur more and more frequently - and however much he tried not to see it, there was an undeniable look of relief in her eyes every time she saw him there.

For the moment, though, they were still whole - still together - and that was the important part.

The rest they could worry about later.


End file.
